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The Call
The rain tapped on my bedroom window in a seemingly endless pattern. Sitting on my bed I wait for Dad to finally arrive home instead of being here alone with the person I have to call my mother. He’s late, but that is not at all unusual. If only he knew what she did to me, maybe he wouldn’t be away so much. As the clock ticks the phone rings and I hear the wicked witch stomp over to answer. She speaks in a hushed voice until she hangs up, and suddenly there is a loud sob. Tiptoeing down the stairs I peer into the kitchen, and find Mother on her knees with the phone in hand, tears streaming down her face. As I approach, her eyes, the size of dinner platters, look up at me. “There’s been a terrible accident.” She whispers, and suddenly I am sprinting outside into the rain.
I run blindly away from the house, away from my terrible mom, away from everything, until my legs feel the way I do inside. Numb, the way your lips sometimes feel at the dentist. Heart pounding I finally slow down and notice that I am standing in a clearing of woods I’ve never seen before. Reaching out I place my hands on the rough trunk of an oak tree. My legs finally give way and I sink to the ground in a patch of fallen leaves dotted with drops of rain. A tear that can only be my own falls and joins the drops on the ground, undistinguishable from the others.
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